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| CARYL the barber, and his wife, of late | |
| Had, journeying homeward, words of high debate; | |
| He long had lived suspicious of the fair; | |
| (“To jealous bosoms, trifles light as air | |
| Are confirmations strong”) yet ne’er had been | 5 |
| So prompt before to charge her with the sin. | |
| The Muse was by, and, pleased with such rare sport, | |
| Has told the dialogue in this here sort. | |
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CARYL. At three new Boston shopsters have I tried, | |
| And bought a chintz would ornament a bride; | 10 |
| This bosom-pin, this locket tied with blue, | |
| I bought for Susan, thinking she was true: | |
| But, ah! for all my love what sad return, | |
| Since you for swains beside your Caryl burn. | |
| ’T is well I saw you not—these eyes had flow’d | 15 |
| Away in tears, and I had lifeless stood. | |
| How times have alter’d since I first thee knew! | |
| How am I left the wedding day to rue! | |
| Ah, luckless Caryl! Susan, faithless fair, | |
| Has soil’d her fame, and sunk thee to despair! | 20 |
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SUSAN. ’Tis true, O Caryl, times have alter’d quite, | |
| Since first you kiss’d me on the nuptial night; | |
| Indeed they ’ve alter’d in four seasons gone; | |
| But charge not me—the fault is all thy own. | |
| While stood our cot on Bagley’s fertile plain, | 25 |
| I was thy nymph, and thou my only swain. | |
| Then in thy presence brighten’d every scene, | |
| More red the rose grew, and the grass more green | |
| Soon as the sun from eastern skies arose, | |
| We left our leafy couch and sweet repose; | 30 |
| Then did I first beneath the ashes hide | |
| Twice twenty rough-skins, and our meal provide; | |
| Then swept—and to my spinning-wheel sat down, | |
| Nor envied her who wears a golden crown; | |
| And when at noon, with labor spent and heat, | 35 |
| Thou didst, O Caryl, to thy cot retreat, | |
| I cheer’d thee fainting with a cup of whey, | |
| From Comstock’s brought, and fann’d the heat away. | |
| How often then, attest ye stars above, | |
| Did Susan, breadless, make a meal on love. | 40 |
| How oft did she refrain from every crust, | |
| Though pinch’d with hunger, and, to quench thy thirst, | |
| To thee, O Caryl, all the whey resign’d, | |
| Contented always while her swain was kind. | |
| How oft, O sun, within yon pine-tree grove, | 45 |
| Hast thou heard Caryl tell me tales of love; | |
| And when thou, hastening down the western sky, | |
| Didst seek at eve in Thetis’ lap to lie, | |
| Then did we to our humble cot repair, | |
| And seek for rest and satisfaction there. | 50 |
| But now, alas! the happy glass is run, | |
| Caryl is faithless—Susan is undone. | |
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CARYL. Stay, Susan, stay; from all reproach refrain, | |
| And prove me faithless, ere thou dost complain. | |
| Here Caryl stands, a pure and spotless youth, | 55 |
| (So heaven preserve me as I speak the truth) | |
| Here stands he—pure as thou, my lovely bride, | |
| Six months before the nuptial knot was tied; | |
| But say’st thou this thy own disgrace to cure? | |
| Ha! that’s a trick I never will endure. | 60 |
| I ’ll beat thee, Susan, for thou art my wife; | |
| I ’ll beat thee, though I love thee as my life. | |
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SUSAN. Stay, Caryl, stay; thy beating love restrain, | |
| And I ’ll unfold the reasons why I ’plain. | |
| When first, on fame and worldly riches bent, | 65 |
| Thee to Pawtucket thy base genius sent, | |
| Then fled the sunshine of my former life, | |
| And fortune frown’d on Caryl’s faultless wife; | |
| When at thy shop three customers a day | |
| Were shaved, and each his coppers three did pay; | 70 |
| How didst thou strut, and talk, and look as big | |
| As old M’Laughlin in his horse-tail wig. | |
| E’en then I saw some symptoms of disdain, | |
| And thought thee colder than my country swain. | |
| But when to every house in town you run, | 75 |
| And shaved and dress’d them every mother’s son, | |
| Then money rattled in your once lank purse, | |
| And all was prinking, pranking, mince and fuss. | |
| Now Caryl drinks with gentry, and carouses | |
| At gaming tables and at brothel houses. | 80 |
| Now oft at midnight Susan opes the door, | |
| And lets him in, a traveller on all four. | |
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CARYL. Take that—you hussy, for your lie.— | |
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SUSAN. Have done. | |
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CARYL. I have, you baggage; now you may go on. | 85 |
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SUSAN. Then your affection to decay began, | |
| And first I knew th’ inconstancy of man. | |
| But still your love I did not cease to prize, | |
| And tried to make me pleasing in your eyes. | |
| When you came home and call’d me swarthy brown, | 90 |
| And said such colors would not do in town, | |
| Did I not try, at morning, noon and night, | |
| And wash and scour and labor to be white? | |
| Did I not eat of pipe-stems near a gross, | |
| And take of herb-drinks many a bitter dose? | 95 |
| Devour raw rice and paper—Indian meal, | |
| And chalk—as much as ever I could steal? | |
| And when, in scorn, “d—n such a shape,” you cried, | |
| Did I not lace me till I almost died? | |
| Yet still I fail’d—you sought another fair, | 100 |
| And Dermot saw you, Caryl, you know where. | |
| You loathed my love, your Susan’s arms you fled, | |
| And cruel left me in a lonely bed; | |
| A female weakness then usurp’d my breast; | |
| I sought revenge—my tears must tell the rest. | 105 |
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CARYL. Dermot was false, and all he told thee lies; | |
| But I forgive thee, Susan; wipe thine eyes. | |
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SUSAN. This is the only reason I can give | |
| For my past conduct; but with thee I ’ll live | |
| In future, Caryl, spotless as the dove, | 110 |
| And faithful as the redbreast to her love. | |
| But now let’s leave this vile Pawtucket town, | |
| And in the country once more settle down: | |
| Let’s move our hut to Bagley’s fertile plain, | |
| And dwell in love and happiness again. | 115 |
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